Fallen
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Frodo Baggins thought his role in the events of the Ages was over. But when along with Finrod Felagund he finds that the Valar have decreed they will have a role in deciding Sauron's ultimate fate, he finds just how mistaken he was. 4th Age Valinor AU. Editing begun 6-10-14
1. Prologue

**Editing finished 6-18-14.**

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><p>Prologue<p>

Manwë may have blown what was left of the stubborn ex-lieutenant of Melkor away from the Armies of the West, but Námo had enough of his trying to enslave Middle-earth. With the greater part of his power destroyed with his Ring, he was unable to resist as Námo exerted his power over the hapless Maia. He was swiftly pulled into the cell Námo had prepared for him. It wasn't Melkor's old cell, but it didn't have to be. With so much of his essence destroyed, he wasn't much stronger than the elves held in the other cells like this one. Námo had placed him in a wing of his own: he didn't want to have any of them find out Sauron was here. Although placing Fëanor and Sauron together in a small space might be highly amusing…

Námo sighed as he examined the damaged fëa before him. There was very little left to tell that this one had once been a brilliant gold—merely little hints here and there. He was so badly damaged that he wasn't even truly self-aware. Námo could feel the confused tangle of the Maia's thoughts.

Carefully, Námo wrapped Sauron with a little bit of his power; a psychic blanket that would sooth most of the Maia's intense pain. While it was mostly likely that Manwë would order this one thrown into the Void like the Vala he had chosen to follow, while he was in the Halls of Mandos, Námo would see to it that he did not suffer. No matter _what_ the Elves seemed to think, his halls were not a place of torment, and he would not allow them to become such.

Incarnating the small Maia would be the best course of action to help him heal, but if he was simply going to be thrown to the Void, Námo was not going to do that. So he reached out mentally and touched Manwë's thoughts. When the Elder King turned his attention to Námo, the Lord of Mandos explained what he had done to gain his hall's newest resident and asked just what Manwë wanted done with the Maia. Manwë was silent for a long while.

_I do not like the idea of sentencing him to the Void without a trial, _Manwë finally said. _And ideally, he would need to be able to speak at that trial__…_

_I will incarnate him then,_ Námo responded. _He will heal more quickly that way. It will probably be a few years before he will be able to stand trial, but we are not in any hurry._

_That is true, _Manwë replied. _Then I will remand him to your care until he is strong enough to face trial in the Máhanaxar. _

Námo gave a mental bow, and let the connection fade. He turned his attention again to the Maia and gently unwrapped him, compassion filling his eyes as Sauron gave a confused cry, not understanding why the warmth was gone and the pain had returned.

"Shh, little one, it is alright," the Vala murmured, picking up the Maia so that his own presence could alleviate some of the pain that wracked the damaged creature. Incarnating him would be tricky. The fëa of an Elf remembered it's hröa very strongly, and it was easy to find the memories that could be used to recreate it. For a Maia, however, the memories of a self-created fána could be buried very deeply indeed. And it was considered unethical to dig though another's memories without their consent. Considering the circumstances, Námo was tempted to ignore that, but as damaged as Sauron was, the last thing Námo wanted him to do was panic. And if he became aware of someone else in his mind…

"Well, little one, I hope you will not object to the fána that I create for you," Námo murmured, pulling his own memories of the form this particular Maia had once worn to the fore. Sauron's fána formed slowly: about the hight of the tallest among the Firstborn, but short for one of the Ainur, with long black hair and golden eyes that were the shade his fëa had once been, and a face pale from the long darkness he had created. The missing forefinger and the scared neck from the brief—but memorable—meetings with Isildur and Huan created the defining features of an otherwise beautiful and flawless figure.

Námo looked into the golden eyes, but they were unfocused and hazy, not showing any evidence of intelligent thought. But Námo could tell that the little Maia had settled, the fána able to protect his fëa better than almost anything else Námo could do. And as well, the physical form would allow him to heal faster. So Námo mentally added a cot to the cell, Vairë adding thick, rich bedding from where she was in her workshop. Námo carefully tucked Sauron into the bed and smoothed the covers over him, before gently closing the Maia's eyes and leaving him to his rest.

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><p>FA 1<p>

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

The faintly muttered word, accompanied by a faint banging, was the first thing that Námo heard when he next approached Sauron's cell. The disorientation should have worn off by now, at least partially, and Námo needed to check on the Maia's progress.

Námo raised an eyebrow at the scene that greeted him upon arriving at the cell. Sauron was sitting against the back wall, knees up, one arm casually draped around them, muttering to himself, and banging his head against the wall in time to what he was saying. He'd also apparently found the clothing left for him, and was dressed in the black, loose-fitting tunic and breeches.

"Do you know how it makes you feel when you realize your were enslaved to your own creation?" he said without preamble, eyes flashing open and focusing on Námo's face. "No, of course not, because you've never done something so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he ranted, resuming banging his head against the wall. Námo leaned against the door jam, and let him rant.

"I mean, what did I think was going to happen when I poured the majority of my essence into an inanimate object, _and_ made it seduce and enslave everyone it encounters!" He stopped banging his head on the wall and looked at Námo, curiosity glinting in his golden eyes. "How did those hobbits avoid that, anyway?" he asked.

"All your Ring offered was the power to dominate," Námo explained. "Hobbits as a rule do not desire such power. Thus they were fairly good at refusing Its call."

Sauron nodded, mulling that over. Then he sighed, running his four-fingered hand though his tangled hair. "So now what?" he asked bluntly.

The Doomsman of Arda stared at him dispassionately. "That is the question, isn't it." Námo commented quietly.

"I'm actually shocked you haven't thrown me out into the Void already," Sauron said when Námo seemed disinclined to say anything else.

"Manwë decided that action would not be taken unless you were sentenced after a formal trial," Námo responded.

"So you've all been waiting for me to heal so you could put me on trial," Sauron said dryly.

"Indeed," Námo said, matching his tone.

"So am I healed?" Sauron asked, that sardonic edge still in his voice.

"Considering the state of your fëa when you first arrive here, I sincerely doubt that," Námo said, and the Maia flinched almost imperceptibly.

"You are, however, strong enough to face trial," Námo continued. Sauron's face dropped into a remarkably emotionless mask, though he sighed slightly and shifted his weight to rise.

"Your trial is not yet, young one," Námo said calmly. "Manwë has decided that those who you have most hurt should have a voice in your fate."

"Finrod, Celebrimbor, Gil-galad…" Sauron mused. Námo shook his head again.

"Celebrimbor and Gil-galad have not yet been reborn. They will not be involved. Finrod, however, will be," Námo told him.

"So why the wait?" Sauron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because Frodo Baggins will also get to give his opinion on what your fate will be." Sauron's face paled slightly.

"How can he?" he asked, voice almost steady.

"He is sailing to Valinor as we speak," Námo informed him. Sauron blinked in surprise.

"But he's mortal," the Maia pointed out.

"Yes, but he was so damaged by your Ring that he can no longer find healing in the mortal lands. In recognition of what he accomplished, we are offering him healing here, and he and his elderly kinsman Bilbo, who found the Ring, have accepted that offer, and are sailing here along with the bearers of the Three."

"I see," Sauron said noncommittally, rising to his feet. "He's so damaged, yet you're going to drag everything back up for him with my sham of a trial?" Námo raised an eyebrow.

"Sham?" he asked quietly.

"If everyone already knows what the outcome is going to be, than a trial is simply a formality, nothing more. And I don't think there is _any_ doubt as to what the outcome of this so-called _trial_ is going to be," Sauron spat.

"Do you want to be thrown into the Void?" Námo asked him, still remarkably calm.

"No!" Sauron replied loudly. "I've been running from that fate for two Ages now! But I am no fool: there will not be a single person at that trial that wants anything else than me in the Void. So again, what is the point of a sham of a trial?"

"Do you have any reason we should not throw you to the Void?" Námo asked baldly.

"Other than the fact you'd be handing Morgoth back his chief lieutenant?" Sauron replied. "Not really." He sighed, the fight going out of him, sliding down the fall to sit again, pulling his knees to his chest.

"I never believe the way Melkor did," he said quietly. "I never wanted to become what I have." He tilted his head back, meeting Námo's eyes squarely, one knee falling the the floor, and gave a huff that might have been a laugh under different circumstances.

"But it's far, far too late for that," he said with a mirthless grin that did nothing to alleviate the bleak despair in his eyes.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

FA 3

Even Frodo had to smile when the golden haired elven prince bounded through the door.

"Well met, Little Sister!" he laughed, swinging her around in a circle.

"Finrod!" Galadriel scolded him. "Put me down!" Still laughing, he complied.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Can I not be happy to see my sister?"

Galadriel merely snorted in answer. Frodo glanced between the two, still grinning. When he had first met the elven princess, she had been fighting the long defeat, wise and perilous. Here, another side of her personality had come to the fore. Daughter and sister, she seemed younger.

Finrod had been a shock to first meet. Frodo had expected to meet a dignified Elf-lord, wise and powerful. While there was no doubting his wisdom or power, he actually reminded Frodo of Pippin; he always seemed to be on the edge of bouncing up and down. The Crown Prince of the Noldor faced life with an exuberance rarely seen in the elves.

Frodo was trying to figure out if they reminded him more of Pervinca and Pippin, or Freddy and Estella, when a voice cut through his thoughts.

"Will the two of you kindly act your ages?"

Finrod spun around and grinned.

"Which one?" he asked innocently. Olórin, for it was he who had entered, snorted.

"Either, as you are acting far younger than both," he said.

Frodo's grin faded from amused to nostalgic. It had been a slight shock to realize his friend was a Maia in the service of the Elder King, but Olórin was much the same as he was in Middle-earth.

His appearance had changed, of course. The white hair had become a white blond, and the black eyes had become a deep purple. But the twinkle in them was the same. Frodo had no problems recognizing Gandalf.

"Ah, Gandalf! I suppose that means something is going on," Bilbo said, with an amused smirk. Frodo's smile grew fond. While the old Hobbit was still frail, here on Tol Eressëa his mind was again sharp. While Bilbo had no intention of staying much longer, Frodo was glad that his uncle could spend his last years among the elves, and enjoy hearing first hand the tales he had spent his life studying.

"Can I not simply drop in to see a few old friends?" Olórin asked, mock grumbling.

"No," Bilbo grinned. "Any self-respecting Hobbit knows that your appearance means to look out: you are sure to drag someone on a mad adventure into the blue!"

The Hobbit and Maia exchanged grins. Frodo could still remember when Bilbo told Olórin that he had no intention of calling him anything other than Gandalf.

"I was introduced to you as Gandalf and called you Gandalf my whole life, even when I lived in Rivendell and everyone called you Mithrandir, and I have no intention of changing!" he'd said, as pert as a hundred and thirty-one year old hobbit could be. Olórin had laughed, and told Bilbo he could continue to call him Gandalf. Frodo himself tried to remember to call the Maia by his true name, and was mostly successful, though he did forget a few times.

"Truthfully, I am here for a very important purpose," Olórin began somberly. "I was invited to dinner."

Bilbo laughed. "Very important indeed!" he agreed.

Dinner was an interesting event, combining the culinary talents of both hobbits with those of Galadriel and her mother Eärwen. Eärwen and Finrod were visiting, reacquainting themselves with their daughter and sister. Arafinwë had come a few times, but either he or Finrod needed to be in Tirion, so they had never visited together after meeting the ship carrying the Ring-bearers at the harbor.

Eärwen had grown up as a princess of the Teleri, and so knew numerous ways to cook the fish that were so plentiful on Tol Eressëa. Galadriel contributed dishes that were a blend of Noldorin and Sindarin tastes, and the hobbits provided good Shire food. Everyone agreed it was a cultural blending of the most delicious kind.

Frodo was able to loose himself in the good food, and pleasant company. The amusing verbal sparing matches between the siblings, Eärwen's gentle nature and good humor, and of course Gandalf and Bilbo.

Dinner was a prolonged affair, but end it did. The talk for a time continued, but eventually Bilbo begged off, claiming he was too old to stay up any longer. They bid him goodnight, and then the company split; Galadriel and Eärwen remained indoors, quietly talking, while Finrod convinced Frodo and Olórin to wander the beach and look at the stars.

Frodo was convinced that there was an ulterior motive to Finrod's plan, either to get Eärwen and Galadriel alone, or to speak privately with him. The first to his mind seemed more likely, as he knew no reason Finrod would need to speak with him alone.

The conversation remained light as they wandered down the beach, Frodo marveling at the amount of stars visible: in the sky, mirrored in the water, or reflected in the jewels littering the sand.

"So now that the very important business of dinner is over, I suppose you are going to disappear again?" Frodo asked Olórin. "That is, if you truly have no plans to drag Bilbo or me off on an adventure."

Olórin hesitated. "Truthfully Frodo, we did have another reason for coming tonight," he said softly. Frodo was for some reason unsurprised. It seemed that this walk indeed had been proposed to get him alone.

"What is it?" he asked. Finrod stopped walking and looked the hobbit firmly in the eyes.

"First of all, know that you can refuse and everyone will understand and respect that," he said firmly. Frodo suddenly got the feeling that he was not going to like what was coming next. Finrod continued.

"The Valar are deciding Sauron's ultimate fate, and, should we wish it, the two of us also get a say as to what we believe it should be."

Frodo froze. "Why?" he demanded. Finrod shrugged.

"I am not sure, but I believe it is because Sauron for the past ages has been the enemy of both Men and Elves. It makes sense that the Valar would wish to include representatives of both." Finrod stopped and seemed to consider how to phrase what he said next. "I also had the feeling that if Celebrimbor and Ereinion Gil-galad were reborn they too would be included."

Frodo nodded, understanding what Finrod had been saying with his last sentence. The ones most hurt by Sauron would get a voice in his fate. He turned to Olórin, who had been standing there silent.

"What about you?" he asked. "You fought against him for so long."

Olórin sighed softly. "I could if I wished it," he admitted. "But I do not. I would be biased in this matter." Frodo cocked his head to the side, knowing there was more behind that than what his old friend was saying. Olórin smiled softly, recognizing the tenacious curiosity that Frodo inherited from his Took ancestry.

"He was my brother, Frodo," he explained quietly. "And I was the one who realized that he had turned his allegiance to Morgoth." He paused, and Frodo tried to take that information in.

"I agreed to go to Middle-earth to stand against him, but I did not know how effective I would be. He was always more powerful than I, and I was worried that my feelings would hinder me." He broke off, shaking his head. "But by the time the Istari were sent, there was almost nothing left of him that I recognized. He had lost himself long ago."

Olórin sighed, and his gaze slid out over the ocean to the East. "But I am still biased in this matter," he said, not looking at the Elf or Hobbit. "Even after all he has done, he is still my brother."

Frodo stared at his friend, compassion piercing him deeply. How many lives had been destroyed or forever changed in the long wars against the Darkness? His mind suddenly made up, he turned back to Finrod.

"I will come," he said simply.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter 2

Bilbo, by necessity, had to be told of this plan. Frodo could hardly go without telling him why he was planning to travel to Aman. Bilbo had been less than pleased, feeling that Frodo had already done enough, and that anything more would merely upset him for no reason. But Frodo held firm. Finally, realizing that Frodo felt he needed to do this, Bilbo gave in, but he still worried. He could see that Frodo still had not healed from his quest. Privately Bilbo had begun to wonder if he ever would, though he kept that fear to himself.

The voyage to Aman was uneventful. Frodo was excited about this unparalleled opportunity, but also extremely nervous. Not only about the trial, but simply entering the Undying Lands. He was keenly aware of his mortality at the moment.

Once the ship had docked in the harbor, Frodo followed Finrod to the carriage that would carry them to Tirion. Finrod explained that he usually rode, but Frodo was grateful for the carriage. He was certain that he would look ridiculous on a pony next to a group of Elves.

"Do they know why I'm here?" Frodo asked, indicating the Elves around the harbor. He'd received some curious glances, but none seemed to be wondering what he was doing there. Finrod shook his head.

"They know you are coming, of course," he explained. "But the exact details of why have not been widely shared. It was decided that it was better to keep the trial a secret, to keep any public outcry from occurring."

Frodo could see the logic in that, and he turned his attention to the view outside the window. They were moving though the Calacirya now, and though it no longer was illuminated by the light of the Two Trees, and simply existed under the light of the Sun and Moon like the rest of Arda, Frodo could _feel_ the difference here. He understood why it was dangerous for mortals to dwell in this land. He was glad that he was not staying long.

Still, this was an opportunity that few had ever had. Frodo suddenly empathized with Eärendil. He too had a reason to be here, but somehow felt out of place. Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Frodo was seeing sights he had only read about, and had never in his wildest dreams ever thought he'd see: even when he had sailed West. But finally, he was alone in a guest suite that was more opulent than even Minas Tirith. Deciding that it had been plenty for a day, he blew out the candles and slipped into bed, letting sleep take him.

The next morning was clear and crisp. Frodo thought is seemed both new and ancient: the first sunrise over a timeless world. Frodo snorted at that thought. He really needed to leave the clouds of stuff and nonsense. Firmly, he began to quote all the pithy statements he could remember Hamfast Gamgee ever saying.

They started out early that morning, but not horribly so, the distance to the Máhanaxar was not impossibly great. When they neared their goal, the coach stopped, and Finrod and Frodo continued on foot. Frodo stared in awe at the blackened remains of the Two Trees. Even dead, they were massive, and a poignant reminder of what had been.

But they couldn't hold his attention long, for it was caught by the absolute power radiating from the occupied thrones beyond it.

All fourteen of the Valar were there, even Ulmo leaving his beloved ocean to join the rest. Frodo had no doubt that he was in the presence of the true rulers of Arda. He and Finrod bowed deeply when the drew close. Frodo's mind flitted briefly to when Aragorn had forbidden the Hobbits from bowing to him, telling them they bowed to no one. He figured that this was a definite exception to that. Neither Frodo or Finrod realized what a study in opposites they provided. One tall, one short, one with light hair, the other dark, one immortal, one mortal.

Finrod led the way, moving to stand between Aulë and Yavanna. Frodo felt inexplicably comforted by this. He had always believed that if Hobbits had a patron among the Valar, it would be the Kementári. That idea was reinforced when she turned with a gentle smile for him.

Finrod was on his right, standing next to Aulë. Beyond him was the Lady Varda, next to Lord Manwë, with Ulmo to his right. Exactly opposite Manwë was Námo, the Doomsman dressed all in black. Two Valiër flanked him, one very similar to him, dressed in grey and purple, whom Frodo assumed was Nienna. Vairë sat to Námo's left.

"Thank you for coming," Manwë said.

"Thank you, my lord, for including us in this matter," Finrod replied sincerely. Manwë dipped his head in acknowledgement. He then turned his gaze straight across the ring to Námo.

"Bring him," he said softly. Námo made no visible sign, but almost instantly three Maiar appeared, the one in the center obviously a prisoner.

Whatever Frodo was expecting, this wasn't it. Sauron was only about as tall as Finrod, which still made him almost twice Frodo's height, but was rather short for what Frodo had seen of the Ainur. He was dressed simply, in black, loose fitting clothes. And he was barefoot. Frodo didn't know why that struck him, but it did.

Long, black, slightly tangled hair fell loose around the Maia's face, which was so pale as to appear bloodless. Frodo knew that many considered himself to be pale, but compared to the Maia he was still having trouble identifying as Sauron, he felt positively tan. The only color that was evident was the golden eyes that swept over Hobbit and Elf with a wary, intense gaze.

Frodo tried to connect the mostly ordinary looking Maia in front of him with the terrible figure that had terrorized men and elves alike for the past three ages. It wasn't working. But when he glanced at Finrod, he noticed a look of recognition on his face. So, this must be what Sauron had appeared like in the First Age.

Frodo, for the first time, consciously thought about what he would have pictured Sauron as during the Quest. An Eye, a shadowy figure, a darkness, perhaps in armor; Frodo had heard the stories of the Last Alliance. But mostly, it was a simple golden ring, smooth and fair, and altogether precious, that Frodo thought about when he imagined Sauron. Mingled loathing and longing rose in him, as it always did at the thought of the Ring. Frodo pushed the tangled emotions to the back of his mind, locking them in the same remote corner he always did. There were other things he needed to focus on.

Turning his attention to other two Maiar, Frodo was surprised to see one of them was female. She was taller than Sauron, with long brown hair, and green eyes. The other Maia was brawny, with sandy brown hair. Sauron knelt in the center of the Ring, and the other two Maiar bowed to their lord and moved to stand between his throne and that of Lady Vairë, where they would be out of the way.

Fourteen Valar, two Maiar, one Elf, and one Hobbit all stared at Sauron, who stared at a point just beyond his knees. Just when Frodo thought they were all going to stay like that for the next age, and began to wonder what they would do when his stomach started protesting, Manwë spoke.

"List the charges," he ordered. Námo silently rose to his feet, and Frodo realized the psychological power of having a ring with Manwë and Námo opposite each other. With the being in the middle facing the Elder King, the Doomsman was at his back. If the accused turned to face Námo, it would place Lord Manwë at his back. One could not face them both.

"Sauron Gorthaur," Námo began. "You stand accused of forsaking your sworn lord and turning in secret service to Melkor, joining him in rebellion against your Creator, giving him information detrimental to Our efforts to accomplish the mission We entered Eä to fulfill. You helped Morgoth Bauglir accomplish the darkest deeds of his bid for supremacy in Eä, including the twisted genesis of his creatures.

"When your chosen Master was humbled and brought before Us in judgement, you repented before Eönwë, yet refused to return to Aman to receive justice. Instead you fled, and restyled yourself in your Master's stead. You deceived the Noldor into forging the Great Rings, and when your deception was revealed, you chose to destroy those that had trusted and learned from you.

"You exploited the pride of Númenor and her rulers to your own ends, turning them against Us as the proper rulers of Arda, a scheme which ended in Ilúvatar himself halting your plans by drowning Númenor and changing the form of Arda. Yet in your pride you continued to try to control Middle-earth, waging war upon the remaining Elves, and the faithful remnant of Númenor.

"Now you have again been defeated, this time through Pity and Mercy. Now there are no choices before you: judgement shall be rendered." Námo again resumed his throne.

"And what do you have to say in response?" Manwë asked the kneeling Maia in the center of the ring. Sauron looked up for the first time.

"It's all true," he said emotionlessly. "All except the first two, which I didn't have a choice in."

"So are their any reasons we should not summarily sentence you to the Void?" Manwë asked.

"Two," Sauron replied. "First, Morgoth is going to turn anything and anyone in the Void into a weapon for Dagor Dagorath. So from a tactical perspective, it is foolish to sentence anyone there unless there it is necessary. And second: it is not actually necessary. A cell in Mandos would not allow me to be a danger to anyone, even at the end of time."

"You would willingly accept to be confined in Mandos until Arda ends?" Manwë continued questioning the Maia. Sauron shrugged.

"If it meant not being sentenced to the Void? Yes," he affirmed. There seemed nothing more to say after that, and silence reigned for a moment before Manwë sighed.

"We have no further questions for you at this time," he said. "You will be returned to Mandos until we do." Námo's two Maiar moved forward, taking hold of Sauron again, and thought themselves back to Mandos, leaving only Frodo, Finrod, and the Valar in the Máhanaxar. Manwë turned to Finrod and Frodo.

"And what do you think of all that," he asked the Elf. Finrod spoke slowly, thoughtfully.

"I believe he's telling the truth," he said. "After all, he admitted to most of it. However, I do not believe that I have the right to decide this matter. My own experiences with Sauron stemmed from my own pride in joining the rebellion of my people. If I had turned back, as my Atar did, I would not have died in the dungeons of my own tower." He sighed. "I will yield to Frodo on this matter."

Frodo looked conflicted as attention was turned to him. "I feel he did not tell us everything," he said slowly. "We all know his actions, but do we know anything of his motives? Or have we simply assigned why we think he did what he did to his actions, and overlooked what truly happened? He candidly admitted to what are usually considered his most heinous crimes, and yet denied his actions in the First Age, saying he did not have a choice. Could that be true?" Frodo paused for a moment.

"He tried to repent before Eönwë, and yet something changed his mind," he shook his head. "I cannot help but feel that there is something that caused that, that linked all of these events together."

"So you would grant Sauron's plea to remain in Mandos rather than be consigned to the Void?" Manwë asked the Hobbit. Frodo was silent for a time. Then he raised his head, conviction burning in those blue eyes.

"If he is sincere in his repentance, I would have him return to Middle-earth," he said firmly. Stunned disbelieve met that statement. Frodo elaborated.

"If he truly wishes to change, he cannot do that in a cell. I would have him return to Middle-earth, to try and heal the damage he caused. Of course, there would have to be safeguards in place: I do not wish for him to fall back to his old ways and again try to enslave Middle-earth." Frodo paused.

"This is perhaps not my judgment to make, but surely even he deserves a second chance."

Manwë thoughtfully studied Frodo, then nodded slowly.

"We will consider your words, and learn what we can of Sauron's motives," he assured the Hobbit. Recognizing the dismissal, both Elf and Hobbit bowed, and took their leave, heading back towards Tirion. Frodo would spend the night there, before continuing back to Tol Eressëa. The Valar sat in silence, watching them go.

"We will examine his memories?" Námo finally asked, breaking the silence. Manwë nodded.

"Tonight."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

That night, the Valar again gathered in the Máhanaxar. Námo gave a mental command, and two of his Maiar appeared, dragging Sauron to the center of the ring, before bowing and leaving. The Valar did not want anyone else around for this.

Manwë stared gravely at the slightly shifting Maia in the center of the ring.

"It was pointed out to us this afternoon that none can claim to know the motives behind your actions," he began. "Therefore we have decided to examine your memories, to be fully assured that our justice is indeed that."

The Maia froze. "You can't just throw me in a cell for the rest of eternity?" he said, a small amount of panic leaking into his voice, as much as he tried to hide it.

"No," Manwë said. "Your actions we know. Your motives are what have been called into question."

Sauron was now fighting against the mental bonds that held him there. "I do not give permission for you to do so," he said voice rising in intensity as his fear grew.

"We will not violate your innermost self, child," Manwë said. "But we will know what has caused you to become what you have. You do not get a choice."

Sauron began to shake his head frantically, trying to rise to his feet and flee.

With a single though, Manwë reached out and touched the Maia's mind. It was strongly guarded, and Sauron immediately tried to fight off the mental touch. But Manwë was undeterred, and gently, but inexorably, he peeled apart the Maia's mental defenses.

Sauron was now fully panicking, futilely struggling against a grip much stronger than his own. Námo mentally frowned. There should not be such a strong reaction to this. What was the Maia so desperate to keep hidden, that he would deny mental contact at all costs?

And then Manwë finally broke through the last defenses, and a memory rolled over them like a wave.

_He hadn__'__t wanted to come. Morgoth was furious. He had been humiliated in his own hall, and had lost a Silmaril. Never mind that if he himself had fallen under L__ú__thien__'__s power, Sauron had no chance against her. In Morgoth__'__s mind, if Sauron had killed Beren, none of this would have happened. So Morgoth decided all the blame for this fiasco rested squarely on the shoulders of his lieutenant. _

_Understandably, this made Sauron extremely nervous, and he wished he could be anywhere but here. But his Master had called, and Sauron could not ignore the summons. _

_Arriving before the throne, Sauron bowed deeply, remaining half hunched over, hoping against hope that his obvious display of fear and contrition might soften the punishment that was sure to follow. _

"_Look at me,__" __Morgoth commanded, his voice a low, soft growl. Sauron mentally gulped. This was the most furious he had ever seen his fell master, and he had been there when Draugluin and Glaurung had displeased Morgoth enough to end up as his next __'__projects__'__. This was not going to end well. _

_Slowly, he raised his head and eyes to the Vala in front of him. As soon as he did so, Morgoth__'__s hand shot out, wrapping around his throat, fingers burying themselves into the scabbed over wounds that Huan had left, reopening them. Sauron was unable to stop himself from wincing in pain, but he did not cry out. Doing so would only encourage the Vala to hurt him worse to see what other reactions he could provoke. _

"_Do you know what has occurred here since you lost Tol Sirion?__" __Morgoth asked rhetorically. __"__I have lost a Silmaril to a elleth and a mortal. And then I find out that you had the mortal in your power and you__–__didn__'__t__–__kill__–__him.__" __On the last words he tightened his grip, leaving Sauron unable to fully reach the floor, almost hanging in Morgoth__'__s grasp by his already damaged neck. _

"_So this entire humiliation can be laid at your feet,__" __Morgoth continued. __"__And I am in no mood to forgive this failure.__" _

_With that, the full force of his will slammed into Sauron__'__s mental defenses, effortlessly destroying them. Sauron__'__s back arced, a psychic shriek escaping him as the Vala__'__s fury tore through him. _

_Morgoth ripped into the young Maia__'__s memories, taking the pleasant memories he cherished and destroyed or bound them, laying heavy blocks in his mind. He left alone Sauron__'__s technical knowledge, as that was still useful to the Vala. Once the only memories that the Maia still retained were technical in nature, or ones he hated or regretted, Morgoth cruelly pushed deeper into Sauron__'__s mind, tearing another mental scream from the Maia. The fallen Vala forced his way into the core of Sauron__'__s very being, violating his mind and soul as Melkor__'__s hatred and malice damaged the delicate parts of Sauron__'__s f__ë__a that created who the Maia truly was. _

_With the hand still gripping Sauron__'__s throat, Morgoth threw him across the room into the wall. He lay crumpled at the base of it, glassy eyes seeing nothing, unable to even think after the brutality he__'__d been subjected to. _

"_Gothmog,__" __Morgoth ordered. The Lord of the Balrogs moved forward and bowed, torn between fear of his master__'__s wrath, and hope that he would finally get to take revenge against his hated rival. _

"_You may do what you will with him,__" __Morgoth continued. Gothmog grinned, bowed again, and moved forward. Sauron was unable to resist as burning hands grabbed his upper arms, hauling him upright. _

"_Oh, and Gothmog,__" __Morgoth continued. Gothmog paused, and looked back at the Lord of Angband. __"__Do what you will, but do not destroy the f__á__na. Otherwise it will be you who faces my wrath next.__"_

"_Yes, my lord,__" __the Balrog-lord said, bowing once more. Turning, he continued to drag the Maia who was responsible for him being stuck in this hideous form into the bowels of Angband. Only the orcs and the Noldorin slaves who sadly toiled here knew of the full horror that lay in the depths. He grinned. Revenge would be sweet._

The memory ended, and the Valar were still as statues. Sauron's actions were starting to make a horrible sort of sense…

Sauron had stopped fighting against the invisible bonds that held him in place, but his head was thrown back, and he was mentally screaming from the memories he was being force to relive. Before the Valar could stop it, another memory arose.

_He was lying on a cold stone floor. He only knew it because he was shivering. The pain was too intense to take notice of any of his surroundings. He whimpered in pain and winced, his throat raw from screaming. He didn__'__t think he was bleeding anywhere but his neck, but that was only because the fire whips cauterized the wounds they left. _

_He didn__'__t want to think about that. He tried to push the memory away, but was unable too, his mind still in turmoil from what Morgoth had done to him. Distracted as he was, trying to create order out of the chaos that was his mind and body, he jumped when someone ran a finger down his still bleeding throat. He screamed despite himself as that movement re-woke the agony that devoured what had once been a nicely working f__á__na. The scream hurt too, his throat hurting more than the rest of his physical form, if that were even possible. _

_Once the pain had died down slightly, he opened glazed golden eyes to peer at the world around him, wanting to know who was with him. A pure, holy light met his unfocused gaze. He promptly shut his eyes again. Not who he wanted to see. Even Gothmog would have been better. And after what he had done to him, that was saying something. _

"_Ah, Mairon,__" __Morgoth__'__s voice was smooth and gentle. __"__Why do you make me do this?__" _

_Sauron didn__'__t answer, unable to speak with his damaged throat. _

"_It__'__s your fault you know,__" __Morgoth continued, pouring poison into the already shattered thoughts of the Maia. __"__If you would simply be better, I wouldn__'__t have to do this. I__'__m doing it for your own good. You need to be punished for your mistakes, or you__'__ll never learn from them. I__'__m doing it because I want you to be better than you are now. You have wonderful potential. But you can__'__t start making mistakes.__" _

_Morgoth gently ran his hand down the broken body of the helpless Maia before him. Sauron shuddered, incapable of hiding his reactions like he normally did. Morgoth gripped Sauron__'__s upper arm, tightening his grasp to painful levels. The arm was broken, Sauron remembered with an odd floating detachment. _

"_Disincarnate,__" __Morgoth growled. __"__Disincarnate and get out.__"_

_On his fourth try, Sauron was able to do just that, not realizing as he fled Angband that his once steady golden aura was now black with red and orange fragments, shattered and distorted. _

The Valar were horrified at what they were finding, but they needed to know more. Why had Sauron fled from Eönwë, when he offered the chance for repentance? But the memory they found was not what they were expecting…

"_Are you planning to go running back to the Valar after all this, Mairon?__" __Morgoth asked a third question. __"__Go begging and pleading for their forgiveness?__" _

"_No,__" __Sauron said, for the first time louder than a whisper. __"__They would not grant it, and most likely throw me to the Void along with you, condemning me to your presence for the rest of eternity: I can think of no worse fate!__" __He froze. He hadn__'__t just said that, had he? Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? But Morgoth just chuckled again._

"_You do hate me, don__'__t you Mairon?__" __he said. __"__But then, I am not the only one you hate.__" __He ran his hand down the side of Sauron__'__s face again, this time trailing his fingers until they paused above the Maia__'__s heart. __"__You hate yourself, don__'__t you? You know that all the trouble you are in you brought upon yourself. You cannot go back now, my little wolf.__" __Sauron__'__s stomach clenched, as it always did at the twisted endearment, but he sagged against the wall, defeated._

"_I know,__" __he whispered. __"__No thanks to you.__" _

"_Indeed,__" __Morgoth purred. He leaned down and in, placing his lips right at the Maia__'__s ear, one hand still holding Sauron against the wall, the other cupped around the side of his face. The slight Maia tensed, trying not to shiver. _

"_Remember, little wolf, there is no salvation for you,__" __he whispered, before releasing the Maia entirely and exiting the room. Sauron watched him go with lifeless golden eyes, still slumped against the wall, simply grateful that there had been no possessive in the Vala__'__s final sentence._

The Valar finally found the memory they were looking for, and found just how deep Melkor's lies had gone.

_Even if the Valar were inclined to be merciful, what could he look to but a long servitude? He would be closely watched, with never a moments freedom. It would be intolerable. He could not stand to be enslaved again. _

_But mercy was not the word E__ö__nw__ë __had used. Justice. It was a word that scared him even more. For he was truly fallen now, beyond redemption. They would throw him to the Void, just like the master he had so foolishly chosen to follow. And justice could only follow a trial._

_A trial, where the Valar would rip him apart, looking for everything he__'__d done, and why he had done it. He could not endure such a thing again. It would destroy him. _

_Sauron raised a hand to his throat. This it was his fault. If he had been stronger, made fewer mistakes, this never would have happened. If only he had never listened to Melkor, or better yet, never left the Timeless Halls. _

_But he had. And now, he was nothing but a broken slave. No matter what he did, he was doomed. He bowed his head, as the last little shreds of hope and innocence, that he had been desperately clinging to, died. He had nothing left now, just broken dreams and a shattered life. Nothing but ashes. _

_And so, he began to move. Slowly, so as to not attract attention, he wandered to the edge of camp, and beyond. And when he was far enough away that none would hear him, he ran. _

_True to his nature, he fled, trying to outrun the pain. _

The Valar pulled back from the mental contact. Sauron continued to scream, still trapped in his past. Námo stood silently and moved to the center of the ring, taking the Maia in his arms, grounding him in the present.

Slowly, the screams stopped, and Sauron slumped in Námo's hold, breathing heavily and shaking uncontrollably. Finally, after an indeterminate time, he raised his head, tortured golden eyes locking with Manwë's pure blue ones. They remained like that for a second that lasted for eternity, then Sauron dropped his head.

"You wanted to know why I did it all," he said, voice raw with emotion. His shaking increased, though with as hard as he was trembling to begin with, Námo was the only one who noticed. He met Manwë's eyes again, this time betrayal, agony, and accusation swirling in his gaze. He didn't raise his voice more than a whisper, but he didn't have to.

"I was never going to be hurt again."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Námo thought himself back to Mandos, the shaking wreck of a Maia still in his arms. He returned to Sauron's former cell, sat down on the cot, and waited.

Sauron was fighting to bring himself back under control, but without much success. He was still trembling violently, and Námo suspected shock was the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he murmured softly. Sauron's only response was to try and curl up tighter.

"It wasn't," Námo continued. "Melkor simply waited for an excuse to hurt you. He enjoyed the power it gave him. That you escaped that fate for so long is a testament to your skill and power, nothing else."

Sauron shook his head, still curled up into himself. "No, it was my fault. Even if the only mistake I made was to join him in the first place, it was still my fault."

Námo blinked at that convoluted logic. He had thought that the only ones who twisted logic that much were the Noldor. And the Dúnedain.

"Why did you decide to join him?" he asked. Sauron gave a short, bitter, ironic laugh.

"He threatened to hurt me. And Olórin. And everyone else I cared about." he whispered. Vala and Maia sat silent for a time after that statement. Then Sauron uncurled enough to look Námo in the face.

"He hurt me," he said, barely loud enough to be heard.

"He did," Námo answered, nearly as soft. Sauron dropped his gaze.

"And then you made me relive it all." Námo sighed.

"We did, though we did not know how badly you had been hurt. But because we did so, child, we can help you heal. And we will."

Pain, disbelief, and cynicism warred with acceptance in the Maia's gaze. But what struck Námo was the small spark of hope that appeared. Against his will, terrified what it would do if proven groundless; but for the first time in ages, Sauron began to hope.

The shaking finally began to slow, as Sauron began to relax, and drift off to sleep. He shifted to a more comfortable position as he did so, sinking deeper into the Vala's embrace. Námo began to laugh softly as Sauron curled firmly into him, like a cat seeking heat.

"What?" asked Sauron sleepily. "You're warm. And I've been cold for so long…" His voice trailed off as he finally drifted to sleep.

Námo sat like that for a while longer, making sure Sauron was fully asleep before moving the Maia fully onto the cot, and standing up. Sauron gave a soft murmur of discontent that changed into a sigh as Námo pulled the thick blankets up to his chin. Námo stepped back, and after waiting for a moment to make sure Sauron wasn't waking up, thought himself back to the Ring of Doom.

He took his seat, and the other Valar looked at him, giving him the option of speaking first. Not that most expected him too, he often remained silent in important debates. Not this time though. The future was in flux, too much depended on this decision for him to see it clearly.

"We cannot throw him to the Void," he said, startling many of them. He gave a wry smile. "To hand him back to one who has tormented him so badly, knowing that he would most likely be treated in the same manner would be inexcusable." He could see when Manwë made his decision, because the number of paths the future could take dropped markedly. But Námo kept his gaze on Aulë.

The Vala looked conflicted. He had been deeply hurt by Mairon's betrayal, and Námo knew that he doubted that Sauron would be able to actually change his ways now. But Aulë had loved the young Maia, and did hope that he would be able to find redemption.

All of this only took a second, and Manwë was addressing Námo.

"Then you are supporting Frodo Baggins in this matter?" Manwë asked. Námo mentally sighed, trying to figure out how to respond.

"I am not advocating any position, and will fully support you, whether you choose to send Sauron back to Middle-earth or to leave him in my care for the rest of time. However, while he is in my care, I will help him heal."

"And if I do choose to have him return to Middle-earth?" Manwë asked.

"Then he will still need time to recover from what he endured tonight," Námo answered. "Forcing anything at this time will only result in further damage to his psyche."

Manwë nodded, then gave Námo a wry look. "And yet you say nothing of your actions if I should choose to send him to the Void."

Námo returned Manwë's gaze with equanimity. "You have already made that decision," he said quietly.

"Then you see it?" Manwë asked. Námo frowned.

"Yes and no," he said slowly. "There are still many outcomes that may occur. Nothing is yet certain about Sauron's ultimate fate."

"But the decision at hand is whether we choose to leave him in Mandos until the end of Arda, or return him to Middle-earth," Ulmo stated. "So which do we choose?"

"Do we know why Frodo wishes for Sauron to return to Middle-earth?" Yavanna asked.

"Not for certain," Irmo stated. "Do we wish to call him back to ask?"

"I, for one, would be interested in hearing his reasons," Yavanna answered.

Manwë nodded. "Then we will send for both Frodo and Finrod before we make the final decision as to Sauron's fate."

* * *

><p>The Valar decided that it would be best to limit the number of times Frodo came to Aman. Tol Eressëa was one thing, but Aman was perilous to mortals. So they decided to summon Frodo and Finrod when Sauron would wake up, in the hope that they could reach a decision and render Sauron's judgement without Frodo having to make another trip to the mainland.<p>

It was sometime before Sauron began to stir, but when he did Námo was in his cell almost instantly. The Maia shifted, then blinked, focusing on his surroundings. He glanced around, eyes alighting on the black clad figure of the Lord of Mandos. Sauron dropped his gaze, embarrassed by how he had lost control of himself the night before. At least, he hoped it was the night before.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked softly.

"Nearly a month," Námo replied, moving closer and scooping up the Maia, blankets and all. Sauron instinctively stiffened, then relaxed. Námo had been hoping for the display of trust, small though it was. Sauron was going to have to do a good bit of healing before he would be strong enough to return to Middle-earth, and it would take longer if he distrusted and feared Námo.

"Has…have I missed anything?" the Maia asked, trying for nonchalance and failing. Námo shook his head.

"Your fate has not yet been decided," the Vala said, knowing what Sauron was truly asking. Sauron nodded, but tensed, curling in on himself slightly.

"Will," he started, barely audible. He swallowed, and tried again. "Will you at l-least give me t-time to heal before you th-throw me to the V-Void? I d-don't want to have t-to face…him…l-like this."

Námo instinctively tightened his hold on the Maia upon hearing the sick terror in his voice.

"Hush, child," he whispered to the now shaking Maia in his arms. "We are not going to throw you to the Void. To do so would make us no better than Melkor." Sauron buried his head in Námo's chest and made no answer, though the shaking slowed slightly.

Vala and Maia sat like that until Sauron stopped shaking altogether. Then Námo softly brushed back Sauron's hair. The Maia pulled back just enough to look Námo in the face.

"We've summoned both Finrod Felagund and Frodo Baggins," Námo said. "We hope to reach a decision as to you fate today. We will summon you if we do so." He gently tugged Sauron to his feet. "Make yourself presentable," he said. Sauron nodded, not looking at the Vala. Námo rested a hand briefly on the Maia's shoulder, and then thought himself to the Máhanaxar.

He was the last to arrive. Indeed, he cut it fairly close, Frodo and Finrod were already visible. Námo mentally shrugged. If he had been late, they would have merely assumed it to do with the management of his halls—and they would have been right, though not how they were thinking.

The duo drew close to the Máhanaxar and bowed. Manwë turned to Frodo.

"You are still certain in your opinion as to Sauron's fate?" he asked the hobbit. Frodo nodded firmly.

"I am," he said simply. Manwë turned to Finrod.

"And you still yield to Frodo in this matter?" he asked the elf.

"I do, my lord," he replied. Manwë nodded, then turned back to Frodo.

"We have found that we are inclined to agree with your decision," he explained, "but we are curious as to what motivation lies behind it." Frodo shrugged.

"I have long been inclined to mercy," Frodo began slowly, "and more recently, I have found that I cannot help but extend it even to those who have hurt me."

"Why?" asked Yavanna.

Frodo sighed, looking down. And then he looked up, and more than one of the Valar were surprised by the self-hate that swirled in that cerulean gaze.

"Because I failed," he said, in a harsh voice. "I failed, and the only reason the world was saved was because of Mercy." His legendary stubbornness became dominate in his gaze as he pinned the Valar with an intense look.

"Having received mercy myself, how can I refuse it to anyone?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Námo blinked, the only indication he gave as the future snapped into place. Sauron's ultimate fate was still uncertain; too much depended on the Maia's choices for him to be able to see it. But Sauron would return to Middle-earth. And…That would work nicely. Námo knew to keep that little insight to himself.

Manwë glanced across the Ring of Doom, catching Námo's gaze. Námo raised an eyebrow, answering Manwë's unasked question.

Manwë nodded. "Summon him," he said softly. It was Námo's turn to give a single nod, as he gave a mental command to two of the Maiar in his service. Within seconds, Sauron appeared, flanked by two guards.

Námo mentally frowned. Sauron's eyes were perfectly blank, his face totally impassive. He moved gracefully to the center of the Ring and knelt, staring at his knees.

Frodo examined him thoughtfully. Compared to the last time he had seen him, Sauron seemed…defeated. Something had happened. He wondered if he asked, would the Valar tell him?

"Sauron, you have been the enemy of the Free People of the West for the past two Ages, and the Lieutenant of our fallen brother, the enemy of us all since the beginning of Eä. By your own admission, you crimes have been many and heinous. Yet we have recently learned there were mitigating circumstances." Manwë was silent for a moment.

"It has been decided that we agree with Frodo Baggins as to what your fate will be."

Sauron's shoulders tensed, but his face remained absolutely still, revealing nothing.

"You shall be granted a second chance; to return to Middle-earth and to heal the hurts you have wrought there."

"Wait, what?!"

Well, thought Námo, amused, that got a reaction out of him.

Sauron head had shot up at that, staring at Frodo, completely incredulous. Gone was the emotionless mask. Then realizing how that sounded, he blushed slightly, a faint staining of his cheeks the only color to his face. He raised his right hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Don't misunderstand; I am grateful," he said. "But…" He dropped his hand and looked again at Frodo.

"Why?" he asked, confusion written clearly on his face. Frodo sighed.

"Why is it that is the first question everyone asks?" he said.

"Because it's quite frankly the last thing anyone expects," Sauron said bluntly, a bit of the personality he'd shown when he first arrived in Mandos emerging. Frodo shot him an unamused look.

"After receiving mercy myself, I find I cannot deny it to another," he said simply. Sauron gave him a measuring glance. There was more to that answer than stated, he was sure of it. Frodo caught it, and continued.

"When was the last time you granted mercy?" he asked. Sauron dropped his head, again staring at his knees. But Frodo didn't stop there.

"And when was the last time you were granted mercy yourself?" Sauron's gaze slid sideways, looking away from Frodo.

"Just now," he answered softly.

"And before that?" Frodo continued. Sauron again dropped his head. He might have received mercy if he had begged forgiveness after the War of Wrath, but as to actually receiving it…had it been so long that he truly couldn't remember?

Frodo nodded to himself, the expression on the Maia's face confirming to him again that he was making the right decision.

"We can't send him back to Middle-earth alone," Finrod spoke up, thinking in practicalities. "Too many hate him. T'would be like throwing a lamb to a starving warg." Sauron shot him a very strange look at that analogy. Manwë raised an eyebrow.

"Are you offering to go with him?" he asked. Finrod shrugged.

"I would, but you've already told me I will not return to Middle-earth. Besides, while the elves would listen to me, ordinary men wouldn't be likely too. To them, I am simply a legend."

Frodo nodded. "It was a shock to many in Minas Tirith when Lord Elrond arrived. They were suddenly forced to realize that the tales of the First Age were more than just legends, when the son of Eärendil and Elwing showed up in their city."

Finrod gave Frodo a speculative look. Frodo met it evenly. "Yes, most would listen to me," he said softly. "But it's the ones who won't that concern me. I could not physically stop them." He shrugged self deprecatingly. "I am only a hobbit."

"Yes, but as I found out recently, it is rather foolish to underestimate hobbits," Sauron muttered. Frodo gave him an unreadable look.

"It was not me who threw your Ring into the fire," he said softly. Sauron blinked. Was that what had been behind Frodo's earlier statement?

"No, but your friends—"

"Cousins," Frodo interrupted. "All but Sam, who was with me." Sauron nodded.

"Cousins, then. They were remarkably good at messing up a large number of my plans. And you got farther than I'd expected anyone to be able to. As for actually throwing the Ring in… Well, I can't say for certain, because you hobbits have turned out remarkably resilient to Its power; but as far as I know, no one in Middle-earth could have destroyed It."

Frodo raised an eyebrow at Sauron, who shook his head.

"I couldn't," he admitted. "I poured the _greater_ part of my power into It…which was rather stupid in hindsight. I was just as enslaved to It as anyone who came in contact with It. The only difference was that It was technically a _part_ of me."

Frodo stood frozen. It was one thing for Gandalf, or Aragorn, or Elrond to tell him he'd done all he could do. It was another for the maker of the Ring to say the same. Could it be true? No, he had failed. Frodo shoved the confusing, conflicting emotions to the back of his mind. He had other things to worry about at the moment.

"There's also the fact that even without the Ring, you still almost managed to take control of Middle-earth," Finrod pointed out dryly. Sauron raised an eyebrow.

"Its easier than you think," he said, in the same tone. "All you need to know is what to say, what to promise…even if they don't trust you, you can get them to do what you want."

"Which is kind of my point," Finrod agreed. "There will need to be restrictions on what you can do, as well as a way of stopping you if you do decide to revert to your old ways."

Sauron shrugged. "That's probably a good idea," he said. "I can promise anything here, but if I end up failing, that won't mean anything."

"So…another problem we have to solve," Finrod mused. Sauron looked at Frodo.

"Are you sure you don't want to change your mind and have them throw me in a cell? It would be much easier," he said, only half joking.

Frodo smiled, a surprisingly sly smile.

"I'm sure. What's the point of that? You get neither a chance at redemption, nor any form of punishment for what you've done. Sending you back to Middle-earth is both. You will have to work at repairing the damage you did, which won't be easy, but in return, you actually get the chance to change."

Sauron looked torn between disbelief and admiration.

"So your revenge is your mercy," he mused. "That's…" Words seemed to fail him. He shook his head. "And here you look so innocent."

Frodo just smirked.

"What sort of restrictions do you feel are needed?" Manwë asked Finrod.

"No Singing," Finrod answered instantly. Sauron raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm…He shouldn't be able to conceal himself," Finrod continued.

"That's fairly broad," Frodo objected. "There could be times he legitimately needs to conceal himself. And how do you define that? Anytime he walks behind a rock?"

"Ah," Finrod said. "I see your point. Well, the ability to conceal himself by shifting form at the least. The more mundane ways shouldn't be a risk." Frodo nodded in agreement.

"He shouldn't be able to acquire power…" Finrod mused.

"Again, too broad," Frodo objected. "If he eventually gains trust he's going to gain power. That's just a fact of life. No, we don't want him taking over the world, but that isn't going to work." He paused.

"No making objects of power," he said. Sauron snorted.

"No worries there. That wasn't my wisest move…And I do learn from my mistakes," he said.

"No amassing an army," Finrod added.

"An army solely under his control," Frodo amended. "If he's raising an army for, say, Aragorn, that would be fine."

The hobbit and the elf lord stared at each other. "I can't think of anything else," admitted Frodo. Finrod nodded.

"There is always the danger that someone will know who he is, and *still* choose to listen to him, but I don't see how we can ward against stupidity," Finrod said.

"I suppose we could add that trying to take over the world isn't allowed," Frodo said cheekily.

"Alright then," Finrod said with a grin. "No taking over the world, no Singing, no magical concealment, no creating objects of power, and no making a private army."

Manwë looked amused. "We cannot keep him from doing any of those, for they are simply part of his nature," he cautioned the two. Frodo nodded.

"It's probably better that way," Frodo said. "Being able to do something, but not, is the way to show he's changed."

"So, we need some way to enforce these rules," Finrod mused.

"That is something we will work on," Varda said. "It does not need to be figured out tonight."

"And will Frodo go with him back to Middle-earth?" Finrod asked.

Manwë looked at Frodo. "It is up to you," he said. Frodo slowly nodded.

"I will. But the anniversaries…" he trailed off.

"The effects will be less than they were before," Estë assured him.

"And when Sauron gains a permanent protector, you may again sail." Námo said suddenly. Manwë glanced at Námo, who merely raised an eyebrow.

"So be it," Manwë said. "When you are deemed ready Sauron, you will return to Middle-earth with Frodo Baggins, to attempt to repair the damage you have caused there. You will be prohibited from attempting to dominate those you come in contact with, something we will insure."

Sauron dipped his head in acknowledgement. This had gone on too long, Námo thought. His golden eyes were dull, and he had begun to shiver slightly. Silently he commanded his Maiar to take him back to his cell. They flanked the kneeling Maia and assisted him to stand. Finrod and Frodo had bowed, and begun to leave. Frodo looked back, and caught Sauron stumble when he gained his feet. He paused. The three Maiar disappeared, leaving only the Valar. He turned back.

"My Lord?" he said softly. "If I may ask, why did you agree with me? You mentioned mitigating circumstances, and tonight he seemed…defeated. Tired."

Manwë looked at him, but it was Námo who answered. "When you mentioned that none knew of his motives, we examined his memories. Unfortunately, this also lead to him reliving many of them." Námo paused. "He had been rather brutally mistreated and tortured by Morgoth, which had distorted the way he saw the world, leading him to make some of the choices he did."

Frodo nodded. "I thought there must have been something like that," he said simply.

Námo looked at Frodo curiously. "I know you are tired of answering this question, but why?" he asked.

"The Ring," Frodo answered simply. "There was hatred, and darkness, and seduction, but there was also fear. And pain. Those emotions had to come from somewhere." With that surprising statement, he bowed again, and turning around, followed after Finrod.

"Well," Námo finally commented, "this will be interesting."


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter 5

It was Irmo who figured out the solution. He proposed to link Sauron to another Maia, one who could keep an eye on him. He, Námo, and Estë debated the ramifications and specifics of such a bond, and finally agreed it was a good idea. Manwë proposed that it should be Eönwë who held the other end of the bond, and that was accepted as well. But when it was proposed that the link should be put in place right away, Námo flatly refused. Irmo continued to debate it, until Námo dragged him off and the Fëanturi had a conversation the other Valar didn't even pretend to understand. After that, Irmo agreed with his older brother.

And so the years passed. At first, Sauron did little more than sleep. But gradually, as he grew stronger, the Maia began to grow bored. When Námo walked in and found Sauron putting his cot back together after having taken it apart, simply because it was something to do, Námo began to supply the Maia with books, and the occasional odd repair job.

Sauron was engrossed in one of the latter, skillfully diagraming with a silverpoint stylus. He was so involved in what he was doing that he missed the door of his cell opening.

"Sauron," It was Námo. "You have a visitor."

Sauron twisted around and looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, sketchbook in his left hand, stylus in his right. Námo was there with a fëa; a fëa of a hobbit. Taken aback, Sauron glanced at Námo, who simply stood there dispassionately. Sauron looked back at the hobbit, who could only be one individual. What was he supposed to say? Why had Bilbo even come here?

The silence stretched longer than was comfortable. Sauron desperately tried to find something to say. All intelligent remarks seemed to escape him, and simply demanding 'what are you doing here?' was remarkably rude.

"Well, after looking for you for years, the last thing I expected was for you to come looking for me," he finally said. Perhaps not exactly what the situation called for, but he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. The hobbit caught the irony though, and gave him a wry smile.

"Yes, I never expected to be here either," Bilbo said. Again the silence began to stretch.

"So…not to be rude, but…why are you here?" Sauron finally asked, still feeling horribly confused by the whole situation.

Bilbo actually grinned at that. In fëa, he looked like he had just come of age, and the Tookish side of his personality was evident in his rather mischievous looking smile.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, still grinning. Sauron simply kept looking at him. That was no answer at all, and if he wanted to talk, he could go right ahead. The grin got bigger.

"Well, actually, I wanted to meet you," Bilbo continued. "I heard a little bit from Frodo, but I got the feeling he didn't tell me much trying not to upset me."

Sauron realized he had unconsciously raised the sketchbook he had been holding to chest, using it like a shield. He forced himself to lay it down beside him, placing the stylus on it just so. Then he twined his hands together in his lap, to keep them out of trouble. Seated on the floor as he was, he was eye level with the hobbit, which was decidedly odd. Bilbo's sharp eyes had followed his movements, and Sauron had the uncomfortable feeling that the now dead hobbit caught a good deal more than the Maia would have liked.

"Its actually about Frodo that I wanted to talk to you," Bilbo finally said, grin fading from his face. Sauron looked away.

"You nephew…cousin…just how are the two of you related anyway?" Sauron asked, looking back at Bilbo, curiosity gleaming in his golden eyes. Bilbo's grin returned.

"We are first and second cousins, once removed each way," Bilbo said. "But he has always called me Uncle, and I have always called him my nephew, so that form of address will work too." Sauron blinked.

"Right," he said. Bilbo's grin again faded.

"I always loved him so," he said quietly. "but he wasn't like me; he loved the Shire more than adventure. He never would have left if it weren't for me." He broke off, shaking his head slightly. "I wish I'd never left him the Ring."

"For what it's worth, I wish I'd never made the thing," Sauron said softly. Bilbo looked up, an odd gleam in his eye.

"What would you change?" he asked. Sauron paused for a moment.

"Truthfully? If I had known what would happen I would had never left the Timeless Halls." Sauron said frankly. "I could have saved myself, and the world, a good deal of fear and pain." Bilbo gave him a searching look that Sauron returned evenly. Bilbo nodded.

"Frodo blames himself, you know," Bilbo said conversationally. Sauron frowned.

"I'd gotten that feeling," he admitted. "but I don't understand. Surely he has been told that even getting the Ring to the Fire was more than almost anyone could have done, and as for throwing it in…" he shrugged. "Well, I know of no one who could have." Bilbo nodded again.

"You're right. He did all he could, and has been told that, many, many times. But he still doesn't believe it." Bilbo moved forward, looking Sauron in the eye. The Maia instinctively shrank back slightly, causing the Hobbit to pause for just a moment.

"I know you will have assignments to fulfill from the Valar. But I have one for you as well." Bilbo leaned forward slightly. "You may be the only one who can convince my lad that he didn't fail. And I want you to do so."

Sauron sat there, slightly stunned.

"I have no idea if I will be able to do that or complete any of the tasks the Valar will set for me," he admitted in a soft voice. "But…I give you my word that I will try." Bilbo smiled.

"Really, that's all anyone can ask," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going on yet another adventure." With that statement, and a surprisingly engaging grin, the hobbit left. Sauron simply sat there, thinking about Bilbo's last statement. It was a long time before he again took up the sketchbook.

* * *

><p>It was not long after Bilbo had passed beyond the circles of the world that Námo finally decided that Sauron was strong enough to withstand being linked to Eönwë. Sauron had been filled in on the plan, and he felt it was sensible, though he harbored a few reservations.<p>

"This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Sauron drawled. Námo gave him an amused look.

"Probably," he allowed. "It would not cause any discomfort under normal circumstances, however, these are anything but. Also, with as damaged as your fëa still is, it increases the likelihood that it will."

Sauron rolled his eyes. "Of course it will," he muttered. "Everything else has, why should this be any different?"

Námo felt that Sauron had a valid point, but said nothing, instead thinking them both to the Máhanaxar. There Námo assumed his throne, and Sauron moved to the center of the ring, though this time he remained standing.

Manwë looked at him gravely.

"Sauron Gorthaur, by your own admission, your crimes have been many and heinous. Yet because of the circumstances of your choice to serve our fallen brother, and because those whom you have most injured plea for us to grant you mercy, you shall return to Middle-earth to remit the damage you have inflicted.

"You shall: lower the numbers of the dark creatures that increased under your attempted rule of Middle-earth, see the rebuilding of the major cites of Gondor and Arnor unless it is decided that they shall never be rebuilt, see a peaceful succession upon the throne of Gondor and Arnor, protect the reign of the Heir of Eärendil until that occurs, and undo the damage to the nations that were under your control as self-styled ruler of Middle-earth.

"To insure that you do not fall into your old ways, you will not be permitted to use your natural powers as a Maia, specifically those of changing your form and Singing. Also, you shall be connected with Eönwë, and should at anytime you fail to abide by our strictures, or again attempt to dominate Middle-earth, you shall be summarily sentenced to the Void. You may take as long as necessary to complete these tasks, but this is your last chance at redemption. Failure or abandonment, either by flight or death will end this mercy, and you will be sent to the Void."

Sauron stood there, eyes not truly seeing anything. An almost hopeless panic began to fill him. Reduce the increase in the dark creatures he had caused? Undo the damage he'd done to the countries that had been under his control? To accomplish all required of him would be almost impossible…

He took a deep breath, pushing the panic back with Ages of practice. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself, and raised his eyes to meet Manwë's, giving a brief, sharp nod.

Most of the Valar then departed, leaving only Námo and Irmo. Eönwë came forward, but Sauron didn't meet his eyes. The process was briefly explained to both Maiar, and Sauron silently re-agreed with his earlier belief: this was going to hurt. He knelt, eyes still fixed on the ground. Eönwë knelt as well, knee to knee with Sauron, a concerned look on his face directed at his fellow Maia, though Sauron didn't see it, not raising his head.

Námo moved behind Sauron, taking the Maia in his arms. He needed to guide the placement of the bond, to make sure that it followed the parameters he, Estë, and Irmo, had decided on. Irmo stood behind Eönwë, placing his hands on the Maia's shoulders, to do the same there.

Námo quietly monitored the Maia in his arms. Sauron's heart rate was up, adrenaline flooding his system in the anticipation of pain. His breathing was deliberately controlled, however, leaving him showing almost no physical signs of his anxiety.

Námo nodded at Eönwë, who raised his hands, placing his fingers on Sauron's temples. Sauron closed his eyes at Eönwë's gentle touch, and his heart rate again accelerated.

The type of bond Irmo had proposed was not that much more than a bond that would naturally exist between siblings, though it was modified on Eönwë's end so he would be aware of Sauron doing anything he had been forbidden to do. It normally would not hurt either participant. However, the bond had to placed deeply with the fëa: and Sauron's fëa did not take it well when the bond tried to attach itself to raw spiritual wounds. His back arched, and he nearly jerked out of Eönwë's hold as the bond tightened.

At the same time Námo pulled Sauron's memories of his accustom fána to the fore, and let the form he had created shift. Since a Ainu's form was their own creation, wounds that left an imprint on the psyche often became permanent part of their fána, so Sauron's accustom form had many more scars than the one Námo had created. But Námo could tell the young Maia actually felt more comfortable in the skin he was used to, though he was still in a large amount of pain from the bond.

Eönwë was fine, except that he was receiving the backlash of Sauron's emotions, and becoming distressed by the pain the other Maia was going through. Námo continued to both guide the placement of the link as well as stabilize and finalize Sauron's form. Finally, both were finished, and Sauron stilled, pain yet etched on his features, eyes unfocused.

"Are you alright?" Eönwë asked, concerned. Sauron blinked, meeting the gaze of his fellow Maia for the first time. He opened his mouth, fully intending to say he was fine. But he stopped. He had been lying for ages. No more.

"No," Sauron admitted. "But…I think I might just be able to be, eventually." Eönwë suddenly reached out and grabbed Sauron by the back of his neck, pulling him close enough for Eönwë to press a kiss to his forehead. Then he pulled back enough to look the surprised Sauron in the eye, his own eyes fierce and warm.

"Good, Mairon," he whispered. "Good."

Sauron's own gaze was soft, and unusually vulnerable, as that small seed of hope that had sprouted against his will began to grow. The realization that there were those who actually cared about him, and wanted him to succeed in this seemingly impossible venture he was about to undertake gave him the belief that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to accomplish it.

A small, tentative smile spread over his face, as a warmth he'd not known in ages spread through him. Exhausted, but content, he curled further into Námo's arms, Eönwë's hands warm through the thin material of his shirt, gently but firmly gripping his forearms. Feeling safer than he had since leaving the Timeless Halls, Sauron drifted off to sleep with a soft, peaceful sigh.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

Sauron stared moodily out at the sea, chin on his knees. He'd never cared for chaos that was the sea, and his mood was at an almost all time low. He had never been one to confront his problems, rather one to try to run from them all. But fate had caught up with him, and now here he was, heading back to Middle-earth. He had an impossible mission to fulfill with only a single ally. Never before had he attempted something so foolish. Well, foolish by his standards. He knew many considered his attempts to take over Middle-earth to be foolish, but truly he had planned them all out well, and several times come extremely close to fulfilling his goal. This time though, he hadn't the slightest idea how he was going to accomplish what he needed to do.

"It would be much easier if we set sail from Tol Eressëa," a grumbling hobbit broke into his rather pessimistic thoughts. Sauron turned, and gave Frodo a slight smile.

"Not after my appearance caused a panic," he said, slightly amused with imagining it. Frodo huffed, and sat down beside him.

They sat in silence for a while, before Frodo quietly asked, "Are you ready?"

"No," Sauron answered honestly. It was one thing he had decided on. No more lies. Not unless they were truly necessary. He sighed.

"No, I'm not ready, and even if we could wait another hundred years, I still don't think I would be. I have no idea how I'm going to be able to accomplish this," he said, trying to push back the panic that was filling him, now that this insanity was staring him in the face.

"You're not alone in your mission, you know," Frodo pointed out. "There will be others willing to help you." Sauron stared out at the sea again.

"Who?" he asked. "I cannot think of a single person in Middle-earth who will be glad to see me return, or wish to help me."

"You may be surprised," Frodo said. "But others will be attempting to do what you have been set to do. There are others who for reasons of their own wish to see the old cities rebuilt, or protect the house of Telcontar. Men and Elves will wish to see their lands safer, and so will hunt the remaining dark creatures that lurk there. Your job is to help them."

Sauron nodded slowly. When he put it that way…

"But there will be many who will refuse my help, simply because I am the one offering it," he pointed out. Frodo nodded.

"I am sure there will be, and that will probably be your biggest task. But the letters I am carrying will help somewhat in that regard. The leaders of Middle-earth, at the very least, will know that you are sincere in your offer."

"I hope that will be enough," Sauron sighed. There seemed nothing more to say, and they sat in silence for a while, before it was time to load the ship that would carry them back to Middle-earth. Frodo spoke a bit to the Maiar helping them, but Sauron stayed silent, too unsure around them to speak.

Finally, all was aboard, and the ship was loosed from the improvised moorings. A brisk wind rose in the West, filling the sails and driving them towards Middle-earth. Helpful to have the Valar around on long journeys, Sauron thought sardonically. Slowly but surely, the coast of Valinor slipped away. Sauron expertly set the sails, then sat next to Frodo.

"Where did you learn to sail?" Frodo asked curiously. Sauron grinned.

"Númenor," he said wryly. "Apparently it was unheard of for the King's advisor to not know how to sail, so I got extensive lessons...despite the fact I've never cared for the Sea."

"That must have been...interesting," Frodo commented.

"You have no idea," Sauron muttered. "I was terrified, but couldn't show it. Then of course, Númenor was drowned, and my fears of drowning came all too true."

"That was your fault though," Frodo pointed out. Sauron nodded.

"Yes, but I'd never intended for it to go that far," he explained. "Sending the warriors to their deaths was one thing. They knew death was a possibility. Killing all of the innocents was another."

"According to reports, you killed quite a few innocents in that temple of yours," Frodo argued.

"Yes, but that was...necessary," Sauron said. Frodo raised his eyebrows.

"Necessary?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, maybe not to your viewpoint," Sauron allowed. "But if you're trying to take over, fear, chaos, and distrust are powerful allies. All I had were my wits when I was in Númenor. I was playing a very dangerous game, and I used everything I had at my disposal. Plus, it had the added benefit of lowering the numbers of the Faithful, who were frankly annoying. But it wasn't like I was wholesale slaughtering anyone. Actually, after the first few, the Númenóreans were willing to do it to each other with almost no prompting on my part." Frodo looked thoughtful.

"What were you planning to do after Ar-Pharazôn attacked Valinor?" he asked. Sauron shrugged.

"It depended on who won," he said. "I was assuming the Valar would, and then I would console Tar-Míriel, who, in all actuality wouldn't have been very heartbroken at all, and then settled down as her advisor, ruling from the background until her death, upon which I would seize power in my own right. If Ar-Pharazôn came back…Well, let's just say his beloved Queen probably would have seen to the fact he didn't live much longer. And then the same thing would occur."

"You really did have the whole thing planned out," Frodo commented. Sauron nodded.

"I generally do," Sauron said. "Which is why I feel completely unprepared now. I have no idea what I'm going to do when we arrive in Middle-earth."

Frodo looked at him sympathetically, knowing that there was nothing he could say. For the generally highly organized and strategic Maia, being thrown into something he hadn't planned for was probably highly stressful, and more than a little frightening.

They sailed on, Frodo learning more about the Maia. He quickly learned that almost every action Sauron had ever taken he could justify, at least to himself. Frodo personally still held that the ends did not justify the means.

One night, Frodo was awakened by Sauron gently shaking him and whispering his name. Confused, he was simply given an enigmatic smile, and a "I think you'll want to see this," as Sauron lead him above deck, and pointed out over the ocean.

"Can you see it?" Sauron asked. Dimly, Frodo could make out what appeared to be a low island, waves breaking over it.

"Is that…" he trailed off. Sauron nodded.

"It's the Meneltarma," Sauron said softly. "The only thing remaining of Númenor. We have again entered Mortal seas." They stayed there for a time, then Frodo, growing cold, bade Sauron goodnight and headed back below. Sauron stayed there until the sunrise, his mind Ages in the past.

Frodo noticed that Sauron grew quieter as they drew closer to Middle-earth. He would often stare to the East or the West, or occasionally the North, for long periods of time, unmoving. One morning Frodo came above deck to find Sauron talking softly with Ossë. What their conversation was about Frodo never learned, but Sauron was even more pensive that day.

Finally the day came when the shores of Middle-earth came into view. Sauron was silent the whole day. Slowly, slowly they drew ever nearer. It seemed that they would arrive just before the sun set. Sauron made sure that everything he and Frodo had brought was packed, and then set all his attention to sailing, trying hard not to think.

The quays of Mithlond came ever closer, despite how much Sauron didn't want them to. He had only been more nervous a very few times in his long life. He took a deep breath. This was it, his very last chance. He had been running for Ages, now it was time to stop. Their small vessel gently docked. Frodo went first, and began talking to Círdan, who had met them. Slowly, gracefully, he followed, banishing all emotion from his face. He had returned to Middle-earth.

_Et E__ä__rello Endorenna ut__ú__lien. __  
><em>


End file.
